10 1
by d - nise
Summary: “This was one person that Alice would not appreciate my handling.” The day Vaughn met Sydney.
1. Part 1

10.1

**Author**: Denise 

**Summary**: "This was one person that Alice would not appreciate my handling." The day Vaughn met Sydney.

**Setting**: October 1st, 2001 – Truth Be Told

**Spoilers**: TBT, Passage Pt 1

**Disclaimer**: Don't sue me. I don't own anything. Except for my Vaughn!Clone. He does all the same stunts as the real Vaughn (Shirtless! Action! Sunglasses!) but, um, well, he's kind of on my desktop.

**Author's Note**: My first Alias fan fic … Don't be too nice … really, constructive criticism would be great, I've never written anything so dialogue-free and not Gilmore Girls before … I'm literally petrified.

*

I work for the CIA, therefore nothing is dependable, nothing is ever the same. I used to work in the field – even my name was different from day to day. I'd like to say that my girlfriend is an unfaltering presence in my life, but the fact that she isn't isn't her fault. I love her – I guess that that's something that's constant, but it doesn't really count – I can never be completely there for her, and it's not fair to her, I know, but I'm a selfish person. I can't be alone. A year and a half ago, drunk off my ass, I adopted a dog, as damage control. I would never be alone with Mr. Sparkle in my life. I thought Mr. Sparkle was a lovely name at the time. Like I said. Drunk off my ass.

The next day I met Alice. My best friend told me that it was a miracle that she overlooked the fact I was so hung over that I threw up in her clinic, and that she convinced me to rename Mr. Sparkle. With my newly re-christened dog, I went home, with my hangover gone, and decided that Donovan's next shots would be the next day. I was going to ask his vet out. It all struck me as very Garfield, I was Jon, about to ask Garfield's hot vet out. But Alice said yes.

Despite the wonderful people that have somehow found their way into my life, nothing is constant. Except for the fact that I will sleep through anything.

My father died when I was eight. My mother didn't sleep for six straight days after a CIA agent showed up at our door and offered his most sincere condolences. My mother tossed and turned, and I cried myself to a ten-hour sleep. When I was in Iraq four years ago, and bombs were going off everywhere, I slept straight through the night, and as my partner on that op said, I looked like a fresh morning rose.

Despite the fact that the whole flight home I wondered to myself how the hell I looked like a _fresh morning rose_, it doesn't change the fact that not once since I was six months old have I woken up in the middle of the night. It's the only thing I can depend on. No matter how fucked up things will be, I'll be fresh as a morning rose.

Last night, I didn't sleep. I didn't doze. I didn't nap. I just kind of lay there as Alice snored. I had never noticed that she snored like a water buffalo before. So for eight hours, I lay and stared at the ceiling, and thought about absolutely nothing.

And then the watch stopped.

It was just past four in the morning, October 1st, 2001. I had been staring at the ceiling tiles, just thinking about what to think about, when my father's fucking watch that had been running for thirty-five years decided to stop.

I never swear (not a constant so much as a lie), but this was just abso-fucking-lutely fabulous.

I sat bolt upright, closed my eyes hard and then looked at the watch. It had stopped ticking. I shook it, then put it down on my lap, and resisted the urge to either fling it at the wall and make a whole in the drywall, or take my gun out and shoot it. 

Instead I put it on my bedside, and lay back down as Alice grumbled "Mikey go poopsie."

Oh God.

***

Completely buzzed on caffeine, I walked into the office received a look of death from Weiss.

"What did I do?"

"Devlin had a walk-in today."

Devlin's last walk-in was a South Asian hot dog vendor who had seen the term used in some spy flick and thought that it was code for lethal mustard or something. The one before that had been a fourteen-year-old that was so stoned that I had to stay with him and convince him that he wasn't properly trained to be our next Jackie Chan.

I sighed and put my head in my hands. "Deranged dog-walker?"

"It's Jack Bristow's daughter."

I looked up at him. Jack Bristow's daughter. Shit.

"And Devlin wants you to take care of it. You're going to be piss-ass's little girl's handler."

"Jack Bristow isn't a – "

"Mike. He doesn't know your name. You don't have to defend him."

"Right. Sorry. Bad night."

"Alice?"

"Alice snores like a buffalo and talks about me going to the washroom in her sleep." I paused as Weiss's yoyo wrapped itself around my desk leg and he bent down to untangle it. "And my Dad's watch broke."

_"You could set your heart by this watch."_

Weiss just stared at me. I didn't know what I expected him to say. "Have you seen Sydney Bristow? She's hot."

Well, not that.

"Thanks man. I'll just … go"

"Yeah … sorry."

I grinned half-heartedly and grabbed my cup of coffee and walked out of my office to search for Devlin.

After almost walking into him and spilling my coffee on my pants I tried to breathe deeply.

"Vaughn."

"Good morning, sir."

"After you change your pants, I want you to go see Sydney Bristow. I'm sure that Weiss has already babbled to you all about her."

"Yes, but can I –"

"Vaughn, I see you're having a bad morning, but this is a top priority. Our having another double agent within SD-6 is key. I'll brief you later, for now just make sure that she's comfortable."

I hated Sydney Bristow already. I hated the fact that my father's watch was broken and that apparently my heart had stopped, and that there was this emptiness within me (not an emotional void, more a lack of eating breakfast than anything else), and that there was a coffee stain on my crotch. I hated that overnight I had turned into some cynical jackass, and that I now had to change my pants, and buy Sydney Bristow donuts.

***

"Hi, I'm Michael Vaughn." I extended my hand. She looked up briefly. Her red hair and swollen lip and eyes shining through her wrecked coloured contacts were staring at me. She evidently had no intention of shaking my hand, she looked like she was about to destroy the pen she was holding, her grip was so tight. Was she checking me out? No she wasn't. Jack Bristow's daughter was under no circumstances checking me out.

Oh my God. She was _checking me out_.

She must just be doped up on drugs. I would be too if I had gone through what she just did.

"I'm Sydney Bristow." She paused. "It's nice to meet you."

Hum. This was going well. "I, uh, brought you some coffee and donuts. I didn't know what you kind you liked, so I just got –"

She eyed the plate. "Hawaiian sprinkles. Good choice." And without missing a beat she grabbed a donut, and continued to scribble down furiously.

Maybe she wasn't tripped out on drugs. Her writing was legible, though she did press freakishly hard into the page.

I watched her back. She looked up for just a split second, and I broke into a million pieces. I had never met anyone so real and so fucking broken in my life. Oh this was bad. This was one person that Alice would not appreciate my handling. Not that she knew I was doing any handling, or you know, didn't file reports on insecticide all day. Or really, anything about my life, or the fact that I was legally required to carry a gun. Sydney, on the other hand …. Shit. I was flustered. I had been in the same room with her for about forty five seconds, and Sydney Bristow was making me flustered.

As she scribbled away, I guessed she didn't care if I was leaving, so I just turned around and left. I checked my watch, to see if it was lunch, but it was still stopped. I hadn't taken the time to get a watch out of my cereal box this morning so I could keep time (also, I'm pretty sure wearing a Tony the Tiger watch is a bit of a fashion no-no in the world of international espionage. Or international desk-sitting).

_"You could set your heart by this watch."_

I stopped, turned and looked in through the closing doorway at Sydney Bristow's red hair.

"Shit," I swore for the fortieth time that day and stuffed the watch into my pocket, my father's words still echoing in my head.

I walked into step with the next person that passed me by. "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

***

"We've gone over what she's finished of her statement. She is invaluable to us, obviously. Sydney will be able to fill in the holes in Jack's intel. It's almost too perfect. This could speed the takedown up by years, at the very least. Vaughn. You'll be her handler. I trust you won't take this lightly."

"No, sir."

"She says that she's wrapping up her statement. Considering that it's over eighty pages already, that could mean a number of things."

I smiled. I had at this point completely forgotten about last night and the spilled coffee. I was paying attention. It may not have looked like it, but hey, I was going to be Sydney Bristow's handler. Picturing how her hair framed her face was pretty damn important to me at that point.

***

I stood in line at the donut shop and I peered over at the donut selection. Shit. They were out of anything colourful. An hour and a half ago they had over twenty of every kind and now all they had were strawberry muffins. I didn't even know that strawberry muffins 

_existed_. Bringing Sydney Bristow such a muffin wouldn't go over too well, I figured. So I sat down at a table and waited for a new batch of donuts.

***

Two hours later, I was trotting through the offices like an obedient dog. My secretary ran up behind me. "Michael Vaughn! You know you have other things to do! You can't just run off to donut shops for agents that haven't even been verified! You do realize that you have to have that report done by the end of today. Where do you think you're going? When was the last time you got _me _coffee?"  
  


I turned around and grinned maniacally at her. "I know … I'll get to it. I swear. Thanks."

She shot me a look of death.

Best secretary I've ever had.

Actually, only secretary I've ever had. I had only been at a desk for three days, and I was going to handle Sydney Bristow. If I was a girl, I would giggle.

I walked into the conference room where Sydney was scribbling more furiously than before. I could definitely see how she could beat up someone twice her size. I thought about myself. I was more one like and a quarter times her size, and field trained. She could stop me from ever having children, at the very least. 

"Here's some more coffee and something to eat."

She didn't even acknowledge me. Hmm. Maybe she _had _ been on drugs during our last meeting?

"Uh, just let Mr. Weiss know if you need something else."

"New pen. This one's dying."

No please?

Weiss fished a pen out of his jacket and handed it to me to hand to her, which she unceremoniously grabbed and started to write with, all without missing a beat.

I stared at Weiss. He stared back.

"Stop picturing her naked," was written all over his face. I nodded slightly and walked out of the room.

I was in way over my head.

***

Before she even noticed I was behind her I saw her looking at the picture of myself and Alice. Maybe she'd think I was with my mother or something. 

"Well, this could be very interesting," I smile. Apparently she doesn't want to smile anymore. That's alright. I'm pretty sure that I would be on the floor in a ball if I had just gotten back from Taipei. After reading her debrief, I had already decided that at the mere mention of the word Taipei I would run.

"Does that mean I'm in?"

"No, not yet. They're reviewing your statement. You wrote a lot."

If she was someone else I could easily see her saying "No shit, Sherlock." Well, I work for the CIA, I pride myself on some basic observational skills … 

"I know."

"It's like Tolstoy long." I hated Tolstoy. God. "Devlin says it could take weeks to verify. But I know we could use another double-agent in SD-6."

She shakes her head and looks down, smiling a little half-grin. If it wasn't so sarcastic it would border on beautiful. "So I'll be in contact. I'm going to get you out of here, keep you concealed." Why does she keep shaking her head and smiling like she knows something I don't know? Shit. "Why are you shaking your head?"

"Because you said another."

"So?"

"So, if you really had one already you most likely wouldn't tell me until I was authenticated."

"Unless I had an instinct about you." Smooth, Mike.

"My bet is you don't." And for an instant she flutters. I almost missed it and when she continues back on I could have sworn I imagined it. "Have another double." I don't even know what to say.

"We might." I sound like a three year old.

"But you want me to believe that you do so that on the off chance that I'm looking to be a triple agent, I'll report back there was an existing mole to upset the balance of my agency."

All I can do is smile. She's amazing. I sound like some old movie, but she really is.

As if fantasizing about the wacky adventures Sydney Bristow and I were going to have wasn't enough, that was when it hit me that this was more than just some kind of intense physical attraction to someone who might just understand your father dying at the age of eight and scars all the way around your back and the way the only thing you ever wanted was the truth. Well, maybe it was. I was _smitten_. My Mom would poke me in the stomach and call me a smitten kitten if she were here.

"I'm not trying to play you."

"We'll see."

"I have an instinct," I repeat. She looks like she's going to cry now. "You need a dentist. Do you have one? Because I can get you a name." 

"I'm all right."

She looks like she really needs a hug, but I know I need to get out of there before notions start filling my head about things that are going to happen between myself and this girl that I've been in the same room as for about a minute and a half.

"I'll be right back."

I step out, walk five paces and come face to face with Weiss.

_"You could set your heart by this watch."_

"Three days before you screw this thing up."

"I don't think I can handle her."

"If that's supposed to be some kind of pun to do with the fact that you're a _handler_, it's decidedly unfunny. Leave the humour up to me, Mike."

"I'm serious, Eric." We start to walk down the hall slowly and I stop at a desk, arranging, as promised, a ride out of the building for Sydney. As we continue away, around the maze that will eventually lead us back to my office.

"So am I. This could be bad. You have to be careful. You're already doing kickflips for this girl and you don't even know her natural hair colour. You don't need this. You know about protocol more than anyone. You can't even be friends with her. She is Agent Bristow to you, and nothing else." He stares at me intently. "I'm not kidding."

"I know you're not." We just stare at each other for a second before realizing we've walked by my office. Turning around we stop in front of it, realizing how ridiculous it must look. He raises his eyebrows, re-iterating everything he's just told me. "OK, OK," I mutter before stepping back in, Sydney watching us, a small grin on her face.

"That's, uh, Eric Weiss," I begin. "He's a good friend."

"Well, Mr. Vaughn, this could be very interesting," her voice only lightly tinged with sarcasm.


	2. Part 2

Lah lah, my pottymouth has apparently gotten more severe. Oh well, I love swearing! It's gonna be tough to beat "Sweet mother fucker!" once Vaughn discovers who really killed his father. I'm going to have one hell of a time when we get to the emotional scenes. He can't exactly be wondering what colour underwear Syd is wearing during The Confession, can he?

Oops, I never explained why there's a second part. Because I wanted to. And I'm selfish. Thanks for reading, and for all your support for the first part! I don't think this one is as good, but I really like my bloodmobile scenes. Weee!

Part 2

_ With a splash and a twist we'll both get pissed_

_ And leave after we hear our songs_

_ It's the smoke from the spark when sulphur hits_

_ She'll just remember she felt **something**_

- Jimmy Eat World

"So can you fix it?"

"No," he said simply.

"What do you mean you can't fix it? Do you want to tell me about this watch? It belonged to my –"

"Your father, right? Everyone's freaking watch belonged to their father. Listen, I'm sorry that I can't fix it for you, but there's no reason to drown me over it."

Oh this was just great. Ever since it turned out that Sydney Bristow wasn't actually the nicest person in the world, I'd been holding out hope that the watch was just out of batteries. But yeah. This was great. I didn't _want_ my stupid heart to stop over some kid who thinks I'm a sexist twelve-year-old. OK, so admittedly I now sounded kind of whiny, but still. I cursed Sydney Bristow! Now I sounded like a witch. This just wasn't my week. "You wouldn't happen to know _why_ it isn't working, would you?"

"I don't know. Everything appears to be fine. It just … doesn't work. And there's nothing that'll make it work."

"Thanks anyway," I sigh heavily. I try not to flashback to the bloody mess that was this afternoon. I thought Sydney Bristow would be nice. I guess I should have known better. I never meet nice women. Oh shit. Alice. Shit, shit, shit. What was wrong with me? I pull out my cell phone and dial her number quickly.

"Hey sweetie, it's me."

***

Sydney kept talking on and on and on about this Anini Hassan jackass character. I didn't have the heart to interrupt and tell her that actually, your Dad has been working as a double agent for over ten years, and I kind of already know more about Hassan than you do. But I'm not that kind of person. This whole know-it-all attitude was just starting to piss me off, and I couldn't take it anymore. What did my mother tell me? Take it like a man. Jesus, Mike, why can't you just take it? "I don't blame you. Listen –"

But she just kept on going. Maybe it wasn't my fault. Maybe she just liked to hear herself talk. Of course she didn't just like to hear herself talk. Arvin Sloane had murdered her fucking fiancé, of course she wanted to kill the bastard. "There's more. We need to go after a geneticist in Kuala Lumpur. He's involved in …"

That's it. Every man has a quota. I've been sitting in this fucking bloodmobile for four and a half hours listening intently to everything she said, and, well, someone might get a bit suspicious that Sydney wasn't dead from all this blood loss. "Okay, stop. You have to listen to me, okay?"

"You said you wanted to talk about the plan. I'm giving you the plan." No, you're telling me your life story.

"It's not your job to give me the plan. I'm giving you the plan. Tomorrow's your first day back at SD-6. Now, nothing should change. When you get your assignment, you'll detail your mission on a paper bag." I pick up the paper bag and show it to her. I feel like shoving it in her face, but like I said, I'm a nice guy. "Bag," I point. "Then you'll call this number," I hand her the card, rather nicely, if I do say so myself it. "Memorize it," I continue. I've got this down to a T. I'm not going to screw this up. "After three tones, press the appropriate digit -- one through six. Each corresponds to a trash can in a specific location. Now we'll review your information, create a countermission, and we'll contact you posing as a wrong number. Joey's Pizza." My best friend in college. "Any questions, so far?"

I'm a bit more than impressed that she had actually let me get this far. Of course I had spoken too soon. God I wish I had actually slept in the last seventy-two hours.

"Yeah. Can you show me what a bag looks like again?"

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Oh here she goes. She has that look in her eyes. I'm going to get it. I'm just doing my job, Christ.

"Now, you listen to me, Mr. Vaughn. I appreciate what your job is here, even though I think you're a little young to be doing it to establish a protocol between the C.I.A. and their latest double agent. But I'm not sitting here to pick up the ins and outs of Langley procedure. I am sitting here for one reason only, and that is to destroy SD-6!"

You listen to me Sydney Fucking Bristow, I don't think you _do_ appreciate what my job is here. You know what they would do to me if they found me here? Does the term "cadaver" ring a bell to you? I know about protocol better than anyone at Langley, do you want to hear a little story about what they did to my father? Do you know why I'm in this fucking bloodmobile when I could just as easily be sitting at a desk, doing just as well for myself? But of course all I could get out was a "Hey!"

"After which I am out! I want no more of this spy crap, that's why I went to you in the first place. So, listen to me and I will hand you, in record time, the people who will render SD-6 useless."

Oh. Really?

"Record time," I can't even mask the skepticism in my voice. Does she not realize the full scope of SD-6? Did her father not mention how long he's been at this?

"Two months. Tops. And then I am out. I walk."

Two months. I'm torn between crushing her little world and just leaving her alone. But it wouldn't be fair to her. Actually, I don't really care what would be fair to her, I just want to see the look on her face when she sees how many people Arvin Sloane could kill with one phone call. I grab a pad of paper from a shelf, and hand it to her.

"Draw me a map. Draw me a map of SD-6 and all its allies. How far you think it reaches."

"Do I look like I'm in Junior High?"

I don't care anymore. I don't care how pissed off she gets and how much she hates me and how far she gets my ass kicked to the curb. "Just draw me an SD-6 family tree!"

"Braces on my teeth... Headgear? Do you see a retainer?! 

"Just DO IT!!" The apathy was overwhelming. 

She stares at me for a minute, and then she turns to the paper and scribbles furiously a map. There are ten names on it. Tops. It's like a web from freaking third grade. God. 

"I don't know what your problem is with me. Maybe it's that I'm a woman, or maybe you just don't like my attitude, or something, and I'm sorry about that." I can't believe this. Well, yeah, I don't really like your attitude, but I'm not sexist. Jesus, you could kick my ass. I know that. I recognize that. I fear that. I respect that. And she's not done yet! "But I really don't feel like wasting time here. Three's only one way we can immobilize SD-6, and that's MY way. So, forgive me for being forthright or... female, but this is how it's gonna be."

Fine. Have it your way. Wanna see SD-6, Spy Barbie? I stand up, and reach inside a cupboard. Wow, this would be bad if anyone ever actually tried to give blood. National secrets running amuck … Anyway. I grab the map of SD-6 that I had been studying for the passed six years, and spread it out in front of us. I gauge her reaction, before starting. "Since I've been at the C.I.A., I've only seen this map grow. This is what you're in the middle of, Sydney. If shutting down the Los Angeles cell was all we were after, we would have raided that office three years ago. This is not about cutting off an arm of the monster. This is about killing the monster." I wasn't going to be placing bets on who the person to kill Arvin Sloane would be. That had become painfully obvious. "And the work you have ahead of you -- the work your father has been doing -- it's complicated, it's political, and it is long term." 

Very long term. I wouldn't be surprised if she was out of agent service by the time we finally did it. And by did it I obviously did not mean some kind of lurid sexual thing. God. I really have to get over this soon … considering how well we seem to be working together already, it would be a hell of a lot longer than I had originally anticipated.

I give her the card with the number again. "Here, memorize this."

"I did," the spark is gone.

"Okay. I guess we'll wait to hear from you." Hopefully there won't be a repeat of this when I show her the warehouse. I actually kind of liked it, but that was a different story. We wouldn't be meeting there for a long time.

She's already started to leave before I can stop her. "Hey, wait." It's out of my mouth before I can even think about what she has to wait for.

I grab a bright yellow smiley face sticker, and put it where her blood would have been drawn. 

"Thanks," she smiles what would have been a genuine smile if she hadn't been so deflated.

"You're welcome."

After she leaves the bloodmobile I sigh heavily, and glance at my still broken watch. I'll have to get that looked at. My ass I would let Sydney stop my heart. I grab a bottle of water and down half of it in ten seconds. Then I look down at my pants, and nearly choke on the water still in my mouth when I see the little surprise waiting there. OK, well, maybe not _little_. Shit, shit, shit. Sydney Bristow was _not_ doing this to me.

***

When I got her paper bag, it seemed a bit more crumpled than was necessary. Like she was trying to send me some sort of message. I concluded at the time that she was just so caught up in the hate of Sloane that it really had nothing to do with me. Though I was half-expecting to find "Die Michael Vaughn! Stop getting mysterious erections!" scrawled in Sharpie on the back.

"I'm ready, honey!" Alice called and came tripping into the room. 

I stand up from my perch on her couch throw the crumpled bag into my briefcase. I guess I should destroy it, I've already planned out the countermission, but I can't just bring myself to do it.

"Michael, are you having a rough time at the office? You've been so distant these past couple of days, and look at that paper bag. You really pulled a number on it. It's like you pretended it was your boss's heard and scrunched and scrunched and scrunched it, just to get revenge. You can talk to me about anything, you know."

This was unbearable. I wrap my arm around her, and smile. "Nothing's wrong. That was my lunch bag, from two days ago, and I just haven't gotten the chance to throw it out yet."

"But what about the Aladdin lunch bag that I bought you for Christmas? Why don't you use that?"

She got me an Aladdin lunch bag for Christmas?? No no no no no, this can't be happening. She bought me a new shaving set, and Donovan a new leash. Under no circumstances was a kid with a purple vest and parachute pants involved.

"You're so cute when you try and remember things that never happened!"

I wish I had counted how many forehead wrinkles I had before I met Alice. I could almost guarantee that the number had tripled since then.

***

I get to the convenience store too early. I'm half an hour early. How was I supposed to keep occupied for thirty min --- Oh. Dear. God. Is that a Slush-O machine? There is nothing as delicious in the world as a Slush-O … I haven't had one in years. Now the really tricky part would be to decide red or blue. Both had their obvious advantages, but really most important would be the one I would be able to finish quicker. I'm pretty sure if Sydney Bristow saw me sitting in front of a Slush-O machine sipping a blue one she would have something done to my ass.

Fortunately for me her timing is freakishly in sync with my own, and before I drive myself crazy over the potential outcomes based on my flavour choice.

"It's me," she says, and opens the fridge door into the freezer behind me.

"How you doing?" And the part that really worries me – I actually do care. No matter how whiny-ass I get about my own life, hers is probably infinitely worse.

"How I'm doing? I'd say things have been better. I'm working with friends who have no idea who they're really working for."

I lived a lie, yes. But really, it was nothing. "I heard Sloane had you meet your father." That should've been more than a bit interesting.

"Yes, he did," she said nonchalantly. Damnit! No juicy gossip. I was hoping something along the lines of 'Well, yeah, he did. I nearly killed the bastard with my bare hands. Then Sloane walked in, and I shot him down, and then I decided I would come and have your babies, Michael!' Well, not the last part. Actually yes. The last part. Oops. Oh good, I didn't say that in my loud voice. "So what's my countermission?" she says, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Navour's been on our short list for the past six months. In August, he attempted to purchase a nuke from Libya." That is what we call 'not good'.

"You already knew about Moscow?"

"No, we didn't. So thank you for that."

She closes the door less decisively than I thought she would have, and moves to stand next to me. Hmm … physical contact, take two. Well, I don't know if standing next to Pop-Tarts and Count Chocula while trying to pretend we don't know each other exactly counts as 'physical contact' in the traditional sense of the word. 

"Don't mention it," she says and rubs her arms. "That was cold. So what's my move?"

"Carry out your assignment. Get the documents. When you get back, make sure you are holding the stolen files. We'll execute two brush passes at the terminal."

I move towards the Slush-O stand. Better now than never, right? Red or blue, red or blue. Countermission. "First, one will take place at the gate. We'll intercept the materials and make a duplicate copy and then return them to you in a second pass to be executed at the airport curb."

Wow, that came out really well. I grin inwardly. Outwardly, I put on my scary-Vaughn face.

"That's it?"

"That's it." Scary-Vaughn face stays on. On, show her who's boss! Come on, you're not her bitch, Mike. "Want a Slush-O?" Damnit.

"No thank you."

Ouch.

"They're delicious." Like, really, you haven't lived until you've drunk eight of these straight and then thrown up in a resort in Cancun. Seriously, Sydney.

"No thanks. I said I was cold."

Well, alright. So that kind of hurt. Eye contact is in order so that I can seethe her with my Mad!Vaughn glare.

"Good luck." Wow. That must really have hurt her.

Oh well. I sip my Slush-O and look down at my pants, to make sure that no one thinks they're getting some action down there.

This one is _so_ the crushed ice's fault!

***

This is Sydney's first mission. Well, not really. I mean, she's kicked many other asses before she kicks ass today. But you know, if you think about it, it was a nice sentiment before I butchered it in my train of thought.

"Any word from her yet?" Weiss peers his head in my office.

Wow. He's being … civil. Maybe he's not drunk today!

"No, I don't expect to hear anything 'til she gets back."

Of course that won't help me from becoming so wound up about it that I need to go to the washroom every six minutes (and forty-seven seconds) and I'm pretty paranoid I'm not going to make it one of these times.

Weiss brings out the best in me, really.

"Your girlfriend's name is Alice, right?"

Oh for Christ's sake. "Would you shut up?"

"I'm just checking to see-"

"Get out of my office!" I've always wanted to say that. And now I can … wow. Oh my God. He's actually leaving. Eric Weiss listened to me. This has never happened before. The closest I've ever gotten to having this happen is when we were both throwing up in some random bars' toilets and I suggested he not puke in my hair. Well, he _almost_ missed.

***

"Mike! For the love of God stop ogling your naked figure! Sydney's getting off the plane."

"I'm not ogling my naked figure, Eric!"

"Oh God. I don't even want to know what you're doing then."

I open the washroom door quickly and stare him down.

"You are not as funny as you think you are."

"Donovan disagrees."

"You ask Donovan if he'd like a chocolate covered peanut. I really don't think he's going to like me better as I attempt to provide him with a long and healthy life."

"Alice. Remember."

What was _wrong_ with him?

***

I swoop through the terminal. Well, not swoop so much as swoosh. No, wait, sweep! Because I have a broom, see? Sydney drops the disk in my cleaning supplies. Oh no, did I fill the bucket with water? What if the disk landed in the water? Well that could be disastrous enough. Oh. Wait. I didn't. Nevermind. I'm already in the tech room and stripping off my clothes.

Wow that sounds wrong.

I hand tech the disks. "We got two three and a halfers here. We gotta move fast!"

"Let's use the third and fourth copies. Take about … ninety seconds."

I glance at the monitor. Oh shit. "They're moving into customs, we're talking seconds, not minutes!"

"I hope they're not corrupted."

I could say the same thing for my mind.

"They're moving to the main terminal … how long is this gonna take??"

"Relax! We know these disks aren't normal, we're moving as fast as we can."

Not fast enough. My agent is out there with nothing to show to fucking Arvin Sloane. Jesus Christ … Now, now, now! What the hell do we pay you for? So that you can have Sydney Bristow killed at gunpoint? Even if they were to get the disks to me now, could I really make it without sprinting down the alley and slapping it in her face? That would be humorous if there weren't guns trained on me.

Ahh, the disk. Alright, I need to master the art of walking rapidly without arousing any suspicion (or myself). What the hell was Langley for if I can't even pull this off?

And the disk is in her hand, and my pants are flat. This is quite possibly the greatest day ever.

***

I review my case work. What else am I supposed to do? Apparently I have an interesting personality (or at least Alice says so. But then again Alice also nuzzles my nose and calls me a wittle wabbit.), but really, is there no reason for me to be allowed to just do my job for once? Is it alright for me to just be sitting at my desk, and not losing my own weight in sweat because my agent is out in the field?

The phone rings snapping me out of my reverie. "Yeah?" I answer, before realizing that if it's my mother or Alice I'm going to get my ass kicked for that.

"I'm going to see Ivanov."

What the fuck. "Who?" But the line's dead. Shit. "Sydney! Damnit!" I swear and rub my face with my hand. Who the hell did she think she was?

I compose myself before I go look for someone to tell about her little stunt just now. Oh this was going to be so much fun!

I knock on Devlin's door, and walk in, "Uh, sir." Hi, guy I've never seen before! This could be a very unfortunate meeting.

***

"We have a name, and an address, we are not gonna sit on our hands here!"

Ohh man. Oh man oh man oh man. Maybe I should have just let her go on without letting the CI-fucking-A interfere. "Sir, I know, I understand that but we cannot move on that information!"

"We can, and we will!"

Why not just slap a T-shirt that says "I'm captain anal pants!" on?

"Then we are risking Sydney Bristow's placement in SD-6 and perhaps her life!"

"That may be the case and yes, we might lose a double in the process –"

Have you not _read_ Sydney Bristow's file??

"Sir, she's going to see him. She's on her way."

"We are talking about a nuclear weapon here. What do you expect me to do? Wait until Bristow contact us?"

Well _duh._

"Read her file, sir! Have you read her file?"

Jesus Christ, I sound like a freaking parrot. No one ever listens to me.

"Bristow's –"

"Do it! Then you will learn what I have! She's an asset! She's doing our work!" While making me scared for my life at the same time, admittedly, but still.

"She was supposed to contact you and –"

Sweet Baby Jesus! Are you really that thick-headed? Do you really not see the problem here? Or are you just some kind of plot device on television that's supposed to make me look like I'm becoming emotionally attached to Sydney Bristow!

"There was a good reason she couldn't! She is on her way to Virginia right now. If we send a team, we risk blowing her cover! We cannot afford do that! Read her file!"

"I've read it!" Oh he's pissed. "What do you want?"

"Five hours. Give her five hours."

He sighs, and looks from me, to a figure passed me, and then back to me. "Five hours."

"Thank you," I mutter and turn around, to face the leggy blonde he's going after, and Eric Weiss.

"Whoo. Impressive."

Well, yeah, I know. Excuse me while I go throw up. "Yeah."

"Balls of steel!"

Hmm, I like the sound of that. Well, actually, I don't exactly know how well that would work out for me. I'm not sure metal testicles are the most comfortable thing in the world. 

"No, that's what I'm gonna call you from now on." Weiss looks like he's a dog incredibly proud of himself. "Hey, have you met Balls of Steel?"

I walk back into my office, sit down, and lay my head down in my arms.

***

Someone is poking me. I am being poked. Who in God's name would have the audacity to poke me – Oh. Weiss. Yo.

"Mike, we have a problem."

I wake up and shake the sleep out of my head and look at my watch. Shit, It's still broken. A _problem_, nonononono, not now. Not after all that, not after five hours and balls of steel and yelling and … "Is Sydney OK?"

"Yeah, but she kind of just totally fucked us over."

***

There are many ways in which this whole situation can be construed as positive.

I, for one, am not going to see it like that. 

"You called SD-6 instead of the CIA! That is unacceptable! You should've called me!"

How ridiculous that sounds doesn't hit me until I've said it. Damnit.

"YOU!" You read my mind, Syd. "What would YOU have done?"

Think, Mike, think. What _would_ you have done? "The CIA, Sydney! You know it has access to nuclear scientists." Ha. Right.

"Give me a break, I had two minutes!"

Oh but I'm not done Ms. Bristow. "And going to Virginia without contacting us?!"

"I DID contact you!"

Well apparently we have VERY different definitions of the word. Yours being wrong. "You are over-eager, you are being irresponsible!"

"You know what?" You're acting like you're five? Yeah, I know that. "Yes, SD-6 happens to have a nuclear weapon," that's not exactly an 'oopsie', Sydney. "And yes, that happens to be my fault. After I called Marshall, SD-6 knew I'd found the bomb, but you know what? We're going to track it and steal it back!"

I wonder how Sloane would take to finding Sydney skulking around the SD-6 subbasement "Uhh, just, looking for a … good … makeout spot."

'Sydney you're carrying a nuclear weapon.'

'Making out _on top _of it.'

Fortunately, that particular scenario will never play out, because, well, "It's in Cairo."

"What?" She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

Good.

"When SD-6 picked up _our_ nuke, they put it on a plane bound for Egypt. Are you ready for this?" I certainly wasn't. My pants will never be the same again. "They sold the thing to Anini Hassan."

Now when I said that there were situations in which all of this could be construed as positive, I obviously meant there were NO situations in which ANY of this could be construed as positive. I sit down, and she follows my lead.

"Hassan …" she whispers, horrified.

"Yeah. Reflected on both our records. FYI." 

And then she looks right at me and oh God I do not like the look in her eyes. "What?" … Uh oh.

"I told you I've been there. Hassan's. I can go back."

Uh, no. "No. Can't do it."

"Why not?!"

"Hassan knows you. If you're spotted, it'll get back to Sloane."

"Then we'll just have to make sure they never see me."

Good luck with _that_. What are you going to do, dress up from head to toe in black and sneak around? Oh. OK.

***

"Sweetie," Alice mumbles.

Oh God, is she going to apologise drooling on my side of the bed again? Gah, I feel like ripping my hair out. I hate it when Sydney is on operations. I haven't been able to sleep all night, and the puddle of drool and Alice draped all over me like some kind of Velcro is certainly not helping.

"Yeah?"

"I never see you anymore."

"I'm sorry, work is insane lately and –"

"It'sok. Just don't go poopsie in your pants anymore, OK? It's a bitch to clean out."

I thought I threw those out!

***

That's it. I'm going on vacation. Alone. Actually I'm going to see a baseball game. But no one can no. I am Secret Agent Man, after all. "Tell Weiss I'm in operations and if Alice calls, just –"

"I need you."

Oh no! Has he found out about my little work-skipping shenanigans? I've never done this before, I just think that my hairline is receding, and damnit, I like my hairline!

"Yeah, I know." I look back at my secretary. "Just call me if there's anything." OK, now the clear solution to this is to avoid the topic and jump into a safer one. "Let me just say this, about Bristow –"

"Don't bother. Don't apologise. You're not in any trouble. Virginia was my call." Well there goes my Balls of Steel story.

"She's intimately familiar with Hassan's base, she's going to get in, disable the weapon. We're all over it." If I do say so myself.

"Well you don't have to be." Whatthefuck? "That's what I'm here to tell you. You're being pulled off the Bristow case."

Sweet mother. "WHAT? Why?"

"Devlin wants a more senior officer. Apparently you were right: this girl is pretty important to us."

I'm not angry. I'm not ready to punch anyone out. I'm not ready to get drunk. I'm just kind of sad. "Yeah, I know."

"He wants you to oversee the office presentation at the D.C.I. non-proliferation meeting, which under the circumstances is pretty ironic," he grins at me and walks away.

Woop-dee-fucking-doo. I guess that's it for the surprises in my pants.


End file.
